


I Can Feel You When the Wind Dies Down

by justyoumeandthestars



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justyoumeandthestars/pseuds/justyoumeandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Adam doesn't know what to do, so he just doesn't.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Feel You When the Wind Dies Down

The concept of death is one of those things you just don't argue. It happens in everyone's life – everyone dies. Tommy's thought about it a lot in his life. The idea's always fascinated him.

That is, until their baby – a girl to be named Samantha Eileen – was pronounced as a miscarriage.

Now the fact of death mortifies him.

He and Adam both knew, though rare, that a male pregnancy was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. But they couldn't get rid of it, “It obviously happened to us for a reason, Tommy,” Adam had told him.

They'd been ridiculously optimistic. They bought a pretty pink crib and a changing table to match, painted a room in Adam's – their – house a light shade of magenta. Clothes filled the closet, and all they had to do was wait.

\--

They haven't touched in two months. Every time Adam so much as tries to brush Tommy's hair out of his face, the blonde flinches and walks away. Adam sleeps on the couch – not because he chose to, but because Tommy made him.

He's hardly heard Tommy so much as talk since it happened. His mom calls frequently, but the bassist doesn't answer. He doesn't play guitar anymore, doesn't watch horror movies, and hasn't put on makeup since he cried it all off.

Adam doesn't know what to do, so he just doesn't.

\--

“I'm moving out.” Tommy tells him quietly one day. He's got a duffel bag over his shoulder and a sunken in face.

“Okay.” Adam says, and Tommy goes.

\--

Tommy doesn't come back for another five months. When he does show up, Adam's lying in the nursery on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Hi.” Tommy murmurs.

Adam's eyes flicker up, but he doesn't say anything.

“I'm sorry for leaving.” He tells the younger man. “I just...I had to.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Did you...did you not want me to?”

Adam figures by not saying anything, he's said enough.

\--

They still don't talk. Not about Tommy leaving, not about Samantha. They don't say anything. Period. Tommy drinks. A lot. Adam just gets high. Figuring, what the hell?, they fuck once or twice before Tommy stops coming home and Adam stops giving a shit.

\--

Adam's in the living room smoking a joint when the doorbell rings and he drags his lazy ass up to answer the door. When he does, he almost wants to laugh. It's a police officer with a fistful of Tommy's shirt in each hand, shoving Tommy at him.

“Keep an eye on him, would ya'?” The cop says before walking down the driveway and driving away.

Adam doesn't say a word as he walks back to the couch and lights the roach. He takes a hit before seeing Tommy awkwardly standing in the doorway.

“So,” he lets out a puff of smoke, “where the fuck you been?”

The blonde shrugs, “Like you actually give a flying fuck where I've been.”

“Used to,” he admits, taking another hit and letting it out before saying, “then I thought to myself, _If Tommy doesn't care, why should I care?_ , and I stopped.”

As Adam lets out another poof of gray air as he watches Tommy storm across the room and into the bedroom.

“Your shit's not in there.” Adam informs him loudly.

“Where is it?”

“The nursery.” Tommy's looks like he's been slapped as he walks to the light pink room and the singer watches. “Can't hide from it forever, Tommy-boy.”

“Like you haven't been.” Tommy mutters as he stares at the grains of wood that make up the door.

“See, that's where you've got it all wrong. When you fucking _left_ for five months, I manned up. I faced the reality, Tommy.”

Tommy's harsh breathing accompanies the sound of Adam's bare feet padding across the room toward him.

“She's gone, Tommy.” Adam states. “She's not coming back. We lost her.”

“Shut the fuck up-” Tommy says weakly.

“Samantha's gone.”

“Stop.”

“Stop _what_?” Adam almost shouts.

“Stop acting like this isn't...” he drags off.

“Isn't what? She's dead, Tommy. We don't have a baby. We don't have Samantha. We don't have anything. We're two miserable fucking bastards without a daughter because she's fucking _dead_.”

“Fuck you!” Tommy screeches.

Adam is relieved to finally get a close up look at Tommy's face. He's crying. His eyes look permanently scarlet-rimmed and his face is smaller than it used to be. His blonde hair is dull and flat, almost a greasy shine to it.

“You don't know anything.” Tommy's voice is quivering. “You don't know what it was like. I lost her. It was _me_. She was inside of _me_. Her life depended on _me_ and now she's fucking _dead_. So don't _tell me_ you're fucking over it. You don't have shit to get over.”

Adam wants to hit him. Smack him right in that stupid mouth of his and make his head crack against the door. Instead he pulls him into a tight hug and cups the back of his head in his palm. “It's going to be fine. We're going to be fine.” He murmurs. “I love you.”

“I'm sorry I lost her.”

“Shh, baby.” Adam's got his mouth against Tommy's ear. “Not your fault. No one's fault.”

For the first time in over six months, when Tommy cries himself to sleep that night, Adam's finally holding him.

**Author's Note:**

> I had my friend Maddy beta this for me. She took like four weeks. And then she goes and says "It didn't need to be fixed."  
> Here's to you, whooooreeeee.
> 
> Title is from a Jack's Mannequin song titled _Amelia Jean_.


End file.
